


Genesis

by dojaegay



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, But also, Drug Use, Gun Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dojaegay/pseuds/dojaegay
Summary: “Do you have a name?” He inquires, crossing his arms on his chest.The Doctor laughs softly. “I do, it’s Johnny. Do you?”He frowns, taken aback. “Of course I don’t.”The Doctor, Johnny, kneels before him, cupping his face with both hands, starting the examination. He squints his eyes, as if trying to read something scribbled with poor writing on his patient’s face.“Mhmm,” Johnny hums. “Unit KN010196I,” he reads the invisible words aloud. “I think I’m gonna call you Kun.”And then Johnny snaps his patient’s neck.





	1. one.

His hub is a comfortable place, his favourite place (the only one he knows).

Every one or two weeks he asks to change the atmosphere, picking from the almost infinite number that the Centre offer him. This week it’s a subtropical jungle, full of (holographic) exotic vegetation and wildlife. His bed is made of leaves (it’s actually a very comfortable and expensive-looking queen-sized mattress) and his bath is a modest swamp (really, just a bath). 

His clothes, however, remain the same. A simple white linen shirt and loose grey pants that cling to his skinny but firm hips. 

His body, which he is not allowed to explore in any way, is healthy and fit. His muscles are firm and elastic, and he has the right amount of fat, enough to make his flesh soft to the touch, but allow his body to take an elegant shape. His skin is spotless and malleable, as well as incredibly resistant. He can’t even begin to count the amount of times he’s injured himself while exercising, while his skin remained flawless. 

There isn’t much he can do inside his hub, but then again, he is unaware that there is life outside. So he does what he knows: reading, cooking, painting, meditating. The Centre encourage these habits of his, and even provide whatever materials he may need. They call him “their most promising trainee”. He ignores what he’s actually training for, but he obeys anyway. The Centre want him strong and healthy; “there’s a greater calling waiting for you” they say. 

He listens.

 

His hub is shaped as a Scandinavian village the day he meets his new Doctor. His former one, the Centre inform him, has retired, even though he appeared young and active every time he visited him for check-ups. His name was Taeil.

He gets a message alerting him about this change just a few hours before his appointed visit. It must have been a last minute decision, he theorizes.

The new Doctor knocks on the door very respectfully, just the right amount of pressure for him to hear but soft enough as to not startle him. 

“Open,” he commands, and the intercom obeys. His door slides open, revealing a tall and absurdly young man. He’s wearing the typical Doctor attire, a tight white nylon two-piece suit that clings to his new Doctor’s firm body, accentuating all his hard edges. 

The Doctor walks in and bows politely, smiling kindly. He has a boyish smile, and his lips are plump and pink. “Good morning,” he speaks with a deeper voice than expected. “I’m your new Doctor.”

“Yes,” he answers. “I figured.”

The Doctor snorts, approaching the bed where his patient is sitting with long-legged strides. His thighs are robust and beautifully shaped. He lays his briefcase--identical to the one Taeil always brought with him, where Doctors carry the tools needed to inspect their patients bodies--on top of the bed, opening it with fast and long fingers. The lock lets out a barely audible clicking sound before the lid flies open, revealing all the utensils the Doctor’s brought with him. There are some he doesn’t recognise, which reminds him that the Doctor is still a stranger to him. 

“Do you have a name?” He inquires, crossing his arms on his chest. 

The Doctor laughs softly. “I do, it’s Johnny. Do you?”

He frowns, taken aback. “Of course I don’t.”

The Doctor, Johnny, kneels before him, cupping his face with both hands, starting the examination. He squints his eyes, as if trying to read something scribbled with poor writing on his patient’s face. 

“Mhmm,” Johnny hums. “Unit KN010196I,” he reads the invisible words aloud. “I think I’m gonna call you Kun.”

And then Johnny snaps his patient’s neck.

 

+++

 

“Hendery, can you please refill our guests’ glasses?” The matriarch asks, but it is a command in disguise.

Hendery obliges, of course, because it’s his duty. It’s what he was made for. So he picks up the bottle of ridiculously expensive red wine and pours it expertly into the guests’ glass.

“There should be no need to remind you of those things, boy. It’s your duty to notice,” the Father says. He’s dressed in his best suit, which looks extremely uncomfortable considering his obese proportions. Hendery can tell that he’s going to need a Replacement soon.

“It is no boy,” the eldest guest reminds them. “You shouldn’t address it as such unless you wish to establish an emotional bond with a bunch of cables and chips.”

Hendery’s grip on the bottle strengthens, so much so that he can almost hear the glass cracking. 

“He’s more than that,” the son speaks up. He looks truly beautiful today, Hendery thinks. His mother, obsessed with reputation and appearances, has forced him into a very formal attire. He’s wearing a navy blue tunic with silver highlights, and his hair is styled up, revealing the elegant and sharp shape of his eyes. “He has feelings, all the units from that model do. You built them that way,” he points an accusatory finger at both men sitting across from him at the glass dinner table.

“Dejun,” his mother warns him, but the same guest from before lifts up a hand to shush her.

“Those feelings you speak of are completely artificial,” he explains, giving the impertinent boy a knowing smirk. “The servant units are programmed to only feel devotion for their masters. They can’t even begin to fathom the existence of a complete range of emotions, like you and I—as humans—can experience. A servant unit’s purpose is solely to make its owner’s life easier, whatever that may imply.”

Xiaojun looks ready to argue back, but his mother gives him a sharp stare that promises punishment unless he stops misbehaving. 

“In any case,” the Father speaks up. “The only thing we know for certain is that—emotionless or not—all of our servant units cook a delicious stew,” he lets out a loud laugh after that, forcing everyone else to laugh with him. No one would dare stay silent as the Father laughed. Xiaojun, headstrong as ever, remains silent. He is the only one allowed to do so.  
How a man so simple and empty-headed managed to achieve such levels of success and power is something Hendery does not wish to know. He can only imagine the horrors he must put his workers—both human and not—through, if what Xiaojun tells him is in any way close to the truth.

“May I be excused?” Dejun requests once they’ve finished dessert. Hendery has not moved from his position even a millimeter since he finished pouring the wine, simply because he hasn’t been ordered to do so. 

His mother sighs before sharing a look with the Father, who rolls his eyes, tired of his only child’s antics. “Alright, son,” she gives in, sipping some wine before she speaks again. “You’ve endured enough socializing today, haven’t you?” She mocks Xiaojun, humiliating him in front of their guests.

Dejun’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t bite back. Instead, he rises from his seat, pushing his chair back with a brusque kick that startles the female servant unit behind him. 

He walks towards where Hendery is standing, taking hold of his uniform’s sleeve. “I’m taking Hendery with me,” he informs the rest of the humans in the room before dragging the android outside of the room and up the elegant and ostentatious glass staircase. 

As they walk up the stairs, Hendery’s enhanced hearing allows him to hear the Father’s imaginative comment. “He’s just a spoiled brat,” he spits. “Don’t take his childish words too seriously.”

And yet Hendery doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone as wise as Xiaojun.

 

“How do you think the people would react if they knew that the Mayor’s son is an Amplified?” Xiaojun asks Hendery once they’re in the privacy of the boy’s room. 

“I think they would find your enhancements beautiful,” Hendery replies truthfully. Xiaojun is the most beautiful creation he has ever seen, and there is no doubt in his mind that anyone with the faintest hint of taste would agree. 

He wraps his hand around the boy’s shoulder and applies the barest pressure as he cleans the joints nailed to his back that his detachable wings leave behind whenever Xiaojun chooses not to wear them. This is Hendery’s favorite moment of the day, when he and Xiaojun are left alone, their only company the beautiful iron wings hanging from the wall, on display as the masterpiece they are.

“You haven’t worn them in a while,” Hendery points out.

“I don’t feel like it,” Xiaojun replies. “They’re too heavy.” He grabs Hendery’s artificial hand with his human one. To the untrained eyes, there is no contrast; Hendery’s fingers, long and slender, interlaced with Xioajun’s shorter ones, are just as anthropomorphic as the rest of him. He was designed to look as familiar to humans as possible, meant to be one of their own but not quite. Xiaojun, however, addresses him as he would an equal, a person. “Come here,” he commands, but his voice is gentle and soaked in fondness. 

Hendery walks around him until he’s standing in front of his boy. Their hands remain linked in between them, and Xiaojun strokes the back of Hendery’s hands with his thumb. 

“And how do you think the people would react if they knew that the Mayor’s son has an android for a lover?”

Hendery lets out a soft chuckle. However soft it may be, it’s proof enough that he’s more than the slave he’d been accused of being born as that evening. Hendery feels, much stronger than most humans he knows. He enjoys, he dislikes, he hates but, mostly, he loves—with such a burning passion that he fears his core might implode one day from the pleasure and devotion Xiaojun ignites in him.

“I think it’s none of their business what you do behind closed doors, sir,” Hendery answers, a teasing edge to his voice. 

Xiaojun smirks, standing up and wrapping his arms around his artificial lover’s neck. “You’re right,” he says against Hendery’s lips, his breath—proof that he is alive—brushing the other’s lips. “I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone else, anyway.”

They share a kiss that tastes like stew, wine and metal.

 

+++

 

Yuta has lived in Neo City his entire life. There’s a metaphor he’s always enjoyed, that described the city as a UPC and its citizens as electrical impulses. Neo Citizens move at a blinding speed, their blood made of electricity and their hearts of metal tubes. They never stop to think; instead, they move, afraid to be dragged and killed by the endless stream of life that Neo City pumped through its wide or narrow streets. 

Yuta is one of the few that refuse to blindly follow this path. He is a rock, resistant against the heavy and flooding river of empty-headed people. 

Despite this revolutionary spark within him, Yuta is far from a guardian angel. He calls himself a trader of sorts, but the government prefer “weapons dealer”. He finds that title a bit too harsh.

His shop, located in the shadiest street of the shadiest district, is visited only by those who know to look for it. Still, he has disguised it as a repair shop, where he sells replacements for outdated androids. 

Yuta is used to spending hours and hours alone in his little shop, locked inside the hidden storage room, working on upgrades for some of his favorite firearms. This is why, on a rainy Monday night, he jumps at the sound of the bell. His pocket-size laser falls from his hand, drawing a line on the wall. Yuta leaves the mini gun he had been working on in its box, bending down to pick up the laser before he walks out of the room, wearing a frown on his face. Usually, his clients notify him before a visit, mostly so Yuta can prepare their order in time. Considering the nature of his business, Yuta finds it reasonable to grab a revolver and shove it in his pants, hiding it under his shirt, before pressing the button that unlocks his front door.

His client, which Yuta has never seen before, is a fairly young man, tall and twiggy but with broad shoulders to make up for his bony figure. He walks with confidence, and carries himself as a powerful man would. Yuta is immediately on edge.

“Hello,” he greets the man. “How can I help you?”

The man approaches the register with long, elegant legs. “I’m looking for a sniper rifle, an analogical one. Particularly one that won’t self-connect to the Grid.”

Yuta gulps. “I’m afraid—“

“Your name is Nakamoto Yuta,” the man suddenly speaks, resting both hands on the table in between them. “You were born 25 years ago in this same city, to parents Nakamoto Ryoji and Yukio. Your File says you own a repair shop, but we both know that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The truth is you’re a weapons dealer, which is why I’m here.”

Yuta clenches his jaw. The pistol burns on his skin, asking, no, begging to be fired. “You should have scheduled an appointment,” he chooses to say. 

His client shrugs. “I didn’t know if you would pick up.”

Yuta lets out an incredulous sound. “How do you think I make money, then? By hanging up on potential clients?” He scoffs.

“So, do you have that rifle or not?” The client insists. He’s starting to get on Yuta’s nerves, which means he’s either stupid or reckless, considering he’s aware of Yuta’s profession. 

Yuta huffs. “I’ll have to look it up.” Before turning around, he warns the man. “Don’t touch anything. You don’t know what could kill you,” he smirks.

Yuta comes back a couple of minutes later, a heavy black box in his hands. It’s covered in dust, and some of it flies off once he throws it on the table, contaminating the already deadly air of the city. 

“This is one of the last I have,” Yuta informs as he opens the box, revealing a huge but outdated sniper rifle. “It’s an antique.”

The client examines the weapon from up close, letting his fingers trace its lines. “I’ll take it,” he speaks after a short and silent examination. 

“That’ll be 300,000 Credits.”

The client chuckles sarcastically, but he pulls out his watch anyway, transfering the money into Yuta’s account with just a tap. “A little bit pricey for a man who relies on his clients’ loyalty to keep him away from trouble.”

Yuta crosses his arms. “And yet you payed for it.”

“You got me there,” the man picks up his buy with both hands, but he makes no sound of protest due to the weight. He doesn’t look in the least bit fazed. “Well, I’ll be off now. I promise to not rat you out.”

“I know you won’t,” Yuta says as he watches him walk toward the door. “Oh, and before you leave,” he calls the man’s attention when he’s almost out the door. “If you wish to avoid being tracked, I suggest turning off you locator. You renegade androids tend to forget that you will always be linked to the Grid, whether you like it or not.”

The unit’s eyes turn dark and deadly, no longer teasing and condescending. “Watch your mouth, Amplified,” he spits. “Or I won’t keep my promise.”

And he leaves, letting the cold air inside the shop as he opens the door. 

Yuta shakes his head. He never did like Combat units. 

 

++

 

When Doyoung digs the edge of the knife into the skin of his wrist, no blood comes out. He feels the pain, like any human would, but doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to it now, used to the burn in his flesh, the screams that came from his manmade nervous system. 

Once, before he’d learnt the truth about his existence, Doyoung had asked his owner why combat units had been designed to feel pain. 

“It’s counterproductive,” he’d reasoned. “It makes us less efficient, flawed, human.” 

“You know, Doyoungie,” she’d used his nickname, the one she’d given him herself. “There’s a reason why humans have been on this Earth for so long without having gone extinct, despite all the threats and traps this planet has in store for us. It is fear, Doyoung,” she’d explained. “Fear fuels our desire to survive. Without it, we have no survival instinct. What would happen if you saw a bullet coming at you but knew the impact wouldn’t hurt you? Would you get out of the way?”

Doyoung had frowned, contemplating his answer for a short a while. “I don’t think I would,” he’d eventually decided. “There would be no need for me to dodge it.”

“And there you have it,” she’d smiled warmly, like she always did when she was about to teach Doyoung something new. “That bullet could be the one to take your life, all because you didn’t fear the pain it could cause you. That is why you were made to experience both pain and pleasure, Doyoung. Without them, you would have no purpose, no need for living. Pain keeps you awake, and pleasure keeps you enthusiastic.”

Doyoung had nodded. “Yes, I understand now.”

She’d caressed his cheek. “Of course you do, my smart boy.”

Eventually, the knife reaches his inner caparass, making a clicking sound. So Doyoung starts to drag the knife down, twisting it until he achieves the shape he was aiming for: a “U”, flipped upside down. He pulls the knife out of his skin, releasing a high-pitched whine he’d been holding. It clatters against the sink, leaving no blood stains. 

Doyoung wraps his fingers around the flesh, pulling it back. Under it, he finds an iron lid, which he opens using the knife as a lever. It snaps open, allowing Doyoung to see the intricacies of his insides, if only just a glimpse. The cables that run inside him resemble human veins, although Doyoung knows that, no matter how similar, he will never be considered equal. Before he can fall into his usual loophole of self pity, Doyoung shakes his head, pulling himself back down to Earth before he digs his fingers inside his forearm, looking for a specific something. 

He finds it easily, feeling his fingers brush the edges of the chip after just a few minutes of excavating. With careful hands, he pulls it out, holding it up so he can examine it. His eyes, which were made to identify every possible threat, go over each and every detail. Once he’s satisfied with his examination, he stands up, places it on the sink and, with one expert hand, smashes it. The chip breaks into thousands of tiny pieces, which he flushes down the toilet. 

It feels humiliating, he thinks, that after years and years of planning and preparing, his project almost failed miserably if it hadn’t been for that skinny weapons dealer and his audacious eyes and shameless mouth. 

Doyoung pulls his skin back down, watching it regenerate at an inhuman pace. The first time had been so fascinating he hadn’t been able to sleep for days, and stayed awake for hours as he recharged, plugged to the wall. He’d kept harming himself, only to watch his body regenerate almost instantly. That had been many years ago, when his owner was still alive, and his only purpose, despite being a combat unit, was to learn from her. 

He looks up, staring at himself in the mirror. Androids don’t age, that’s a universal truth, but Doyoung has no doubt in his mind that if she were to see him in his current state, she wouldn’t recognize him. 

But that doesn’t matter now, not anymore. She’d always talked about purpose, about how Doyoung was more than a collection of cables, chips and electric impulses. 

He has his purpose now, there is no doubt about that.

 

++

 

There’s a spider on the ceiling. Ten watches it crawl, its thin and curved legs moving like a machine, until it disappears inside the hole where the lamp used to hang from. 

He hears the front door open and shut, and he jolts to his feet, leaving the comfort of his bed behind. He walks to the common room as fast as his short legs allow him to without outright running. The sight, however, is disappointing. 

“Jaehyun,” he breathes out, hoping—but failing—to conceal his disappointment. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” he smirks, well aware that Ten had been expecting someone else. “The one and only.”

“Have you heard—”

“Doyoung has the rifle,” he answers before Ten can even ask. “But he’s retreated to his ‘secret apartment’. The ‘Lion’s Den’, as I like to call it. You know how he is.”

“Okay,” Ten sighs. “But—”

“No news from Johnny,” Jaehyun cuts him off again. His childishness and spontaneity quickly give away the fact that he is not the same species as Ten. “Sorry, man. I’ve tried contacting him, but you know the Archive is isolated. He probably hasn’t even gotten my calls or messages yet.”

“Okay,” Ten repeats. “That’s okay. I can wait.”

Jaehyun opens the bag he had been carrying, revealing a repertoire of weapons and ammunition. “Are you sure about that?” He’s smirking, the little shit, and Ten despises how attractive he looks. “You pleasure units can get awfully needy.”

“I will kill you, brat,” Ten warns, but it’s an empty threat. He’s used to this, they both are. Jaehyun likes pushing all of their buttons—except Doyoung’s, because he’s not stupid enough—  
and they respond accordingly. For a human, Jaehyun is terribly reckless, as well as bold. It’s a trait Ten would normally appreciate, but Jaehyun, mortal and made of flesh and bones, is a different case. His smart mouth could get him killed one day, and it’s something Ten fears with every pseudo-fiber of his being.

“Help me sort these instead, please,” Jaehyun answers, tossing Ten a plastic bag filled with all types of bullets.

Ten obliges, if only because the task is robotic and automatic enough to help him keep his mind off of certain topics.

“He’ll be back,” Jaehyun speaks up with uncharacteristic softness. “He always is.”

“One day he won’t,” Ten chokes on his words. He is painfully aware of the fact that Johnny, unlike him, had a time limit, as well as a vulnerable body.

“Don’t think that way,” the door opens almost violently. It’s Doyoung, carrying a massive box that he throws on top of their work table. “It will only bring you pain.”

“I’m not like you,” Ten replies, aggressively sorting the bullets. “I have emotions.”

“A mistake from the manufacturer,” Doyoung fights back, as always. He slaps Jaehyun on the back, who squirms and makes himself smaller, terrified of the combat unit. “My work here is done, I believe. What about Johnny?”

Ten grimaces. “Touchy subject,” Jaehyun says. “We’re still waiting for him.”

“If he fucks up I will kill him,” Doyoung spits, dropping himself on the old and beaten couch. “I should have gone instead.”

“No,” Ten argues. “It had to be someone who could actually deceive the incubator unit. You are always either stoic or murderous, and I’m still in the Grid. It could only be Johnny.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, like he always did when he lost an argument. It was absolutely infuriating.

“So we wait,” Jaehyun sits on a stool, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yes,” Ten continues to sort the golden bullets. “We do exactly that.”

 

++

 

By the time Jaehyun sneaks out of the apartment, only the sinners—like him—are awake. Ten has locked himself in his room long ago, already mourning their leader. Doyoung is nowhere to be seen either, probably moping around in their armory, cleaning their unused weapons as if that would somehow make them more efficient.

At night, the streets of Neo City are even more depressing. Only the poor or corrupted are left, wandering around, waiting for a miracle to happen and pull them out of their misery. Jaehyun imagines the Citadel must look different, cleaner, purer, but he’s never seen it with his own eyes. For his entire life, he’s lived in the muddy and rotten streets of Neo City, among the rats, beggars and criminals. In a way, he’s become one of them. If Johnny were to find out...

He reaches the diagon he’d been looking for after a short walk, his boots clicking against the perpetually wet pavement. There’s a figure then, hidden in the shadows. Jaehyun doesn’t need to know what they look like, that’s not what he came for. 

“Hey,” he greets the figure with the intention of making his presence known. 

“30,000 credits,” the figure answers, not even bothering to lift his head. It’s not like Jaehyun was expecting them to, after all, it’s better to not allow himself to be identified. Identity, as mostly everything in that godforsaken city, is a business like any other. Giving it away freely was a very poor business choice. 

Jaehyun quickly transferred the money before extending his hand, where the figure placed a shiny syringe. Their skins didn’t touch.

“Be careful with it,” the figure tells him. “It’s stronger this time. If you overdose, I could lose my clientele.”

Jaehyun nods. It’s not like he’s planning on dying any time soon. “Noted,” he waves before disappearing into the void of the city.

 

The apartment is suspiciously silent when he walks in. There’s still no sign of Johnny, and Ten’s door is shut, just like it was before Jaehyun left. The armory’s door, however, is wide open, allowing Jaehyun to see that there is no one inside. Doyoung is nowhere to be seen. This sets Jaehyun on edge, all his hairs rising and his skin tingling. Despite having known the android for years now, Jaehyun still feels weary of him. There’s something about him, how he conceals the human part of him, that unnerves the young man. He feels as if Doyoung is probably the most sensible out of all of them, but it’s been long since the last time he saw him show even a hint of sensitivity. 

He walks to his room, kicking the door open. His entire body is starting to itch. He’d been somewhat able to fight the withdrawal for the past week because he knew that he had no way of obtaining his substance, but now that he has it with him--soon to be in him--he feels an almost gravitational pull, out-of-this-world desire to make use of it. 

However, as soon as the door opens, he feels his soul jump out of his body. Doyoung is sitting on his bed, his long legs crossed. His angular body, lit by the moonlight coming from the small window, creates sinister shadows on the floor. His eyes are closed, and even after Jaehyun lets out a loud and sharp gasp of surprise, he makes no move. 

“Jaehyunnie,” Doyoung finally says, turning his head mechanically slow. His eyes drill into Jaehyun’s, and it sends shivers down the human’s spine. “Did you think your nightly escapades would go unnoticed?” 

Jaehyun feels his chest constrict. “What?” Is all he can answer. The syringe burns, vibrates inside his coat pocket. 

Doyoung stands up gracefully, walking towards Jaehyun with slow-paced but long strides. Once he’s in front of the young human, he sniffs him shamelessly. “You smell like the Red District. Was it a whore, Jaehyunnie?” He smirks like a devil. “You have a perfectly functional pleasure unit next door, kid. There’s no need for you to waste your money.”

Jaehyun shoves him away, offended and disgusted by his words. “Fuck off. I would never.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, dusting his jacket. “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to deal with a child tonight,” his shoulder collides with Jaehyun as he walks out of the room, throwing him off his balance. 

Once he’s alone, Jaehyun locks his door, using his desk chair to block it as well. He can’t risk any of his colleagues finding him like this. He doesn’t think he could deal with the humiliation and disappointment. 

He digs out a belt from his wardrobe, wrapping it around his arm, right over his elbow. Before using it, he holds up the syringe, letting the moonlight illuminate it. The glass glistens and, for a moment, Jaehyun feels like he isn’t about to do the dirtiest thing he’s ever done. After hitting the glass with his nails a couple of times, he finally stabs himself with the needle. 

Jaehyun closes his eyes. He’s ready for his punishment.

 

++

 

On the morning of Neo Day, Xiaojun wakes before the sun does. He’s always been an early riser, and today is no exception. In fact, according to his official schedule, he’s only one hour ahead. His mother is an obsessive planner, and she refuses to allow her son to slack off on a day as important as this one. 

Across the room, in his own bed, Hendery sleeps. He’s impossibly still and, despite knowing it’s contrierity, Xiaojun expects his chest to start expanding and contracting rhythmically. There is no way to tell that Hendery is still alive, because he isn’t. 

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, Xiaojun kicks off the covers, getting out of his bed and walking towards Hendery’s. His bed is much smaller, merely a formality, but he uses it regularly. He doesn’t have to, obviously, both because he has no need for sleep and because he will always be welcome in Xiaojun’s bed. However, he likes the feeling of personality, humanity, it gives him. He’s told Xiaojun many times, he likes to tuck himself in bed like any other human teenager would. Xiaojun allows it, indulges it even, because he loves Hendery like he would love a human--perhaps more than he’s ever loved a human before--and he wants him to experience life like a living person would, even though he doesn’t understand how it could be better than through the perfected lense of an android. 

He lifts Hendery’s covers shamelessly, climbing into the small twin bed with him, pressing his body to his warm back. Xiaojun has no experiences with human boys, but if they feel just an ounce softer and warmer than Hendery does, he’s positive he would immediately succumb. He wraps his arms around Hendery’s waist, burying his face in his neck. 

“Good morning,” the android murmurs, his circuits slowly waking up from sleep. It always takes a while for his artificial brain to recover from a shut down. “Or should I say goodnight?” He jokes upon realizing that the sun hasn’t even risen yet.  
Xiaojun presses a teethy kiss to his nape. “The dread woke me up.”

Hendery sighs, recognizing the strain in Xiaojun’s usually melodic voice. He turns to face him before brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “It will be over soon,” he tells Xiaojun, tracing endless patterns on the soft skin of his cheek.

“Just, what? 20 more hours?” 

Hendery chuckles. “And then an entire year of rest.”

Xiaojun whines. He knows he’s being childish, but Hendery has always indulged his bratty behaviour, so he continues to mope. “It’s like an endless loop,” he sighed dramatically. 

Hendery places one hand behind Xiaojun’s neck, pulling him in and attacking his lips hungrily. Xiaojun responds immediately, brushing his tongue against Hendery’s. It doesn’t take long before the android climbs on top of him, caging him with his own manufactured body. Xiaojun is realistic, he knows it probably took less than an hour and the assistance of only one robotic arm to assemble the pieces that constitute Hendery’s body, but when he’s like this--trapped under him, feeling his human-like warmth mixed with Xiaojun’s own--he has no doubt that he is the finest unit ever carved. He wants to live the rest of his life like this; no more conferences, dinners, or public appearances. Just Xiaojun and Hendery, perpetually connected through their bodies and souls. 

Eventually Hendery pulls away, leaving one strand of saliva in between them. Xiaojun steals another kiss from him before finally letting go, dropping his arms from around Hendery’s neck to place them above his head. He doesn’t miss the way Hendery follows the curve of his body with curious eyes. 

“We should start getting ready,” the android says, pulling off of the young human and getting out of the bed. “The other servants will soon arrive to clean you and dress you up.”

Xiaojun rolls his eyes before stretching like a cat and rolling on his stomach. “I’d rather you did it,” he flirts. It always works. Hendery is just as inexperienced as him, but his naïvity is even bigger. Everyday he learns something new from his lover--in many different fields of study, of course. 

Hendery ends up being right, of course. It’s only a couple of minutes later that a servant knocks gently on the door, peering her head in to make sure Xiaojun was already awake. 

 

Two hours later, Xiaojun sits in a luxury car. His robes, made of expensive and heavy materials, occupy almost all the backseat. He is alone, since his parents travel in a different car, and the servants have their own transportation. So he stares out the window to keep himself entertained, watching the other cars drive beside him, below him, above him. There are no trees or birds. Just endless roads, massive highways that defy gravity.

“We’re here, sir,” the driver informs him, pulling Xiaojun out of his trance. The driver, definitely another servant unit, walks out of the car before opening Xiaojun’s door, helping him climb out. 

He soon reunites with the rest of his family, who are dressed equally as regal. He’s starting to believe that they might actually consider themselves royalty. 

“Stand straight, Dejun,” his mother pinches the small of his back, somehow managing to grasp skin through the heavy clothes. 

Xiaojun scoffs, but he obeys anyway. He’s not in the mood to start a fight with his mother in public, however satisfying it would be to see her face the humiliation. He just wants to get this over with. 

His parents, whose arms are locked, start walking up the stairs that lead to the massive plaza built in commemoration of the day of the City’s foundation--Neo Day. Around it, dozens of skyscrapers stand, dominant and commanding. Xiaojun walks behind the pair, as is the tradition, and he doesn’t need to look behind to know that Hendery--along with the rest of their servants--follow him.

It takes a while to reach the top of the stairs, and when they do, Xiaojun feels a bitter satisfaction after noticing how out of breath his obese father really is. He almost has to drag him to the platform where a lectern has been placed. It’s time for the speech, Xiaojun realizes, an hour of nothing but empty words and back pain from standing. 

After helping his mother walk up the stairs that lead to the platform, he takes his usual place behind his father. Hendery stands beside him, and he looks more princely than all of them put together. His handsome features, designed by what must have been a true artist, shine under the morning sun. He looks simply exquisite, in his elegant uniform, and Xiaojun can’t wait for all of this nonsense to be over and wrap himself in the android’s arms again. 

His father begins to speak, his deep and prominent voice booming through the speakers. There are hundreds of cameras around them, since the speech is probably being broadcasted all around the world. Xiaojun disconnects immediately, using his energy to ponder on more important things, like what he’s going to eat tomorrow or what he liked about the last book he read. 

It doesn’t take long before he feels something cold brush his hand, playing with the tips of his fingers. Xiaojun instantly recognizes it as Hendery’s hand. He would identify it anywhere; he’s felt it so many times, all over his body. He’s kissed it, caressed it, or simply examined it, fascinated by its perfection. He truly was a modern work of art, a masterpiece of robotics. 

Subtly, he links his fingers with Hendery’s, resisting the urge to just hold the hand up to kiss face and kiss the knuckles. Instead, he chooses something less insolent, and simply turns his head to stare lovingly at his android. 

It’s then that he hears a sound, sharp and cold, right next to his ear. Two seconds later, and there’s another one. This time, he feels something wet and warm splash his face.

Almost in slow motion, he brings a hand to his face, staining it with the liquid. It’s dark red, thick, and iron-flavoured. It’s blood.

His mother lets out an ear-splitting screech as she stares at the hole in her husband’s head. His father’s lifeless body falls to the floor with a loud thud, shaking the entire platform as it collides with the ground. 

His mother is next. Before he can even begin to process what he’s watching, another silent bullet pierces through his mother’s thick skull, putting an end to her wailing. 

“Xiaojun!” Someone yells beside him. Everyone is yelling, but he stays still. “Xiaojun!” The person insists, yanking his arm. It’s Hendery, eyes blown wide and face contorted in absolute terror. His face is stained too, red spots creating a galaxy on his face. “We have to go!” He screams, taking hold of Xiaojun’s hand and dragging him away from the platform. Despite the chaos, Xiaojun notices that they’re running in the opposite direction from everyone else.

“But--” Xiaojun stutters, trying to walk in the opposite direction. 

“No,” Hendery pulls his arm again. He grabs his shoulders, forcing Xiaojun to look at him. “Trust me,” he begs. He’s crying, and his tears mix with the blood on his face, drawing red lines on his beautiful face.

Xiaojun, too shaken to argue, simply nods, allowing Hendery to drag him wherever. 

And so he runs, until his knees scream in pain, until his feet bleed, until he doesn’t even know where or who he is. 

The only thing he knows for sure is that Hendery’s hand is in his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Xioajun dreams, it’s always vivid, almost palpable. 
> 
> In this one, his wings are part of him. Instead of iron, they are made of feathers, and he feels every single air current against them. He flies and flies, over Neo City’s skyscrapers, away from them. He flies until he can’t recognize the setting anymore, but he doesn’t care. The destination is insignificant, what he cares about is the path. The air caresses his face, ruffling his hair and feathers. Xiaojun feels meaningless, and it makes him exuberant. He has no name, no face, no title, no one to answer to. He simply flies.

48 HOURS BEFORE NEO DAY

It’s early morning when Johnny finally arrives at the apartment. His muscles are screaming in pain and his head is delirious. With all the strength he has left, he knocks on the door. The body he’s carrying on his shoulder remains limp and silent.

When the door opens, Doyoung is behind it. He’s carrying a gun--a laser one--and his eyes are alert. Upon seeing Johnny and what he’s carrying, he wraps one determined hand around the front of the human’s shirt and drags him in. Before Johnny can drop the robotic body, Doyoung takes hold of it, taking it to their armory, where he lays it on an empty table. 

Johnny falls to his knees, unable to stay conscious.

 

He jolts awake at the sound of a gunshot.

“Sorry!” Someone apologizes, panic in their voice. It’s Jaehyun.

“You fucking idiot,” Doyoung replies. “You just wasted a bullet.”

“Are neither of you worried about the fact that someone could be calling the police right now?”

Johnny pushes himself up and forces his body to take him to their common room. “In this neighbourhood?” He groans, half-asleep. “I don’t think so.”

It takes two seconds for Ten to wrap his arms around Johnny’s torso, burying his face in his chest. Johnny runs his hands through the other’s hair, resting his head on top of Ten’s. 

“Johnny!” Jaehyun smiles. It’s an honest one, not his usual smirks, and it makes him look younger than he already is. He’s also carrying an ancient gun in his hand, one of those that shoot iron bullets and aren’t connected to the Grid. “You’re finally awake.”

“Finally?” Johnny asks once Ten lets go of him. “How long was I out?”

“Just a day,” Doyoung replies. “Although they made it seem like much longer with their endless wailing.”

“A day?!” Johnny’s eyes widen. “What about the--” 

“Taken care of,” Ten speaks for the first time that morning. He seems tense and uncomfortable, like their common room is the last place he wants to be. “I took out his organs and placed them in the liquid nitrogen container.”

“It was disgusting,” Jaehyun grimaces, gesturing vaguely with his hands—with which he’s still carrying a gun—, remembering the procedure. “There wasn’t any blood, it was so…” he pauses, looking for the word. “Inhuman,” he chooses.

“Okay,” Doyoung interrupts the conversation. He grabs Jaehyun by the wrist and takes the firearm out of his hand. “Maybe I shouldn’t allow you to touch my guns ever again.”

“Your?” Jaehyun fights back. “I was the one who bought them!”

Before any of them can add any more fuel to the fire, Johnny’s stomach growls loudly, prompting an honest laugh out of Ten, who has looked nothing but sour since Johnny woke up. 

“Well,” Johnny says comically. “I think I have something better to do than listen to you two bicker,” he walks past them to the kitchen. None of them follow him. 

 

He eats alone, in silence. The toast is dry and overburnt and he suspects the scrambled eggs expired days ago, but he ingests them nonetheless. In the common room, Jaehyun and Doyoung have stopped arguing, more out of respect for Johnny than for each other. Ten is a ghost, nowhere to be seen or heard. 

Johnny finishes his food and walks towards his room. He should check up on the incubator unit--Kun, that was the name he’d given him--but his body begs otherwise. He feels half-alive, half-present, half-aware. He needs to sleep for two more days.

As he opens the door to his room, he finds Ten sitting on his bed. He’s wearing casual clothes, probably ready to go to bed himself too, but his expression is too tense. 

“Johnny,” he breathes once he sees him walk in. 

“Ten, what are you doing here?” He asks the android, who stands up and walks up to the human. 

“I needed to talk to you,” Ten answers. He’s uncharacteristically nervous, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater.

“About?” Johnny starts to undress as they speak. Around Ten, he has no inhibitions left. It’s not like he hasn’t seen every part of Johnny before, everything there is to see. He’s seen, touched, felt, kissed. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Ten admits. His voice is strained and full of emotion, and it makes Johnny turn around as he puts on a comfortable T-shirt. “Two days without hearing anything from you… It was hell.”  
Johnny caresses the android’s cheek, who closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling. Ten wraps his small hands around Johnny’s bigger one and presses a soft kiss to the palm. Johnny pulls his hand out of his grip. 

“Ten…” He shakes his head.

“John,” Ten presses their bodies impossibly close and looks up to him. His eyes are half-lidded and his lips glossy. “Indulge me,” he begs, digging his nails into Johnny’s hips.

Johnny’s mind is clouded, confused, contradictory. It’s been months since the last time he and Ten were together, before they agreed to put an end to whatever had been going on in between them for the past five years or so in favor of prioritizing their mission. He misses the way Ten’s body feels under him, around him. He remembers how Ten had looked at him when he’d told him that he was more than a sex toy, more than a doll. 

Before he can change his mind, Johnny wraps his hands around Ten’s thighs and lifts him up swiftly, pressing his lips against the other’s in a painful kiss. He throws Ten’s small body on the bed, climbing on top of him and kneeling in between his legs. Before Ten can react, Johnny takes hold of his wrists and places them on top of his head. Ten grins and steals another kiss. It’s wet, desperate and messy, but Johnny can’t help losing himself in the familiar feel of Ten’s soft lips. 

Once they part, he whispers against Ten’s delicate neck. “This can’t happen again.”

Ten nods, lifting his hips and pressing their crotches together. “Okay,” he moans. “We can do whatever you want.”

Johnny bites his lower lip. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

 

++

 

PRESENT DAY

“It didn’t work,” Ten is the first to speak up. 

“What?!” Johnny is pacing around the room in energetic strides. “How do you--”

“I feel it,” Ten says. All his limbs tingle with the feeling of the Grid, down to his fingers and toes. He’s still connected. “I’m still tied to the Grid. It didn’t work.”

In front of him, with his nose pressed to the flat screen, Jaehyun has started shivering. It takes two seconds before he starts emptying his stomach on the floor, his back convulsing. Johnny kneels beside him and wipes his face with his bare hand. 

“I told you not to watch,” Johnny reprimands him, but there’s no real edge to his voice. He’s always gentle when it comes to Jaehyun. “Look at what it’s done to you.”

Jaehyun shakes his hand, trying to signal that he’s fine, but his body is still trembling. He pushes himself to his feet as well as he can. “I’m just going to lay down for a while,” he tells them. “Don’t come into my room.” 

The television is static, the broadcast had been cut off after the image of their Mayor’s brains exploding had been broadcasted all around the world. The white sound is momentarily interrupted by the loud noise of Jaehyun’s door being aggressively shut. 

“We should wait until Doyoung comes home before jumping to any conclusions,” Johnny tells Ten as he scrubs the floor, cleaning up Jaehyun’s vomit. Ten rolls his eyes when he’s not looking. 

“I already told you: the Grid is still up and running. I’m still connected to it.”

“Then fucking cut the cable!” Johnny suddenly snaps. His cheeks and neck are red in anger. 

Ten straightens and his face hardens. “I will do whatever I see fit.”

They’ve had this argument many times before, about how Ten still being part of the network could potentially jeopardize their mission, and how it was selfish of him. 

“That I have no doubt of,” is Johnny’s answer. He continues to scrub the floor silently but angrily.

“You’re in no position to judge me,” Ten spits. “It took you two days to bring us a limp, lifeless body that offered no resistance. You put our mission in danger just as much as I did.”

Johnny stands up, and his eyes are full of built-up rage. “You have no idea what the Citadel is like,” he stands in front of Ten, and he seems three meters taller than usual. “Everyone suspects everyone, no one is safe, everything is fake. I had to become a doctor, and a postman, and a reporter just to carry that “limp body” you speak of, which, by the way, is the most important lifeform in the city right now. But you wouldn’t know, because you’re so used to these drug-filled, violent streets. They’re honest, sure, but that makes you honest too. And everyone here knows you’re a whore.”

The slap resonates through the whole apartment. Johnny stumbles back, partly because of the force, but mostly due to the shock. He brushes his cheek with the pads of his fingers, looking at Ten incredulous.

“Tennie…” He murmurs. His eyes are blown wide, like he can’t believe what just transpired. 

The door snaps open. 

Doyoung storms in, and he looks downright murderous.

That’s exactly what he is. 

He throws the rifle on a table before kicking a hole on the wall. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he groans through gritted teeth.

Ten turns to him, his argument with Johnny completely forgotten. The skin on Doyoung’s knuckles is almost nonexistent now, but there’s obviously no blood. It’s regenerating awfully slow, Ten notices, probably because he’s smashed it against a wall too many times. 

“Doyoung,” Johnny’s deep and steady voice helps stabilize the disrupted atmosphere. “What happened?”

“It’s the kid,” Doyoung sobs. Ten has never seen him this out of control. “The fucking kid. I can’t believe I let him go.”

“Killing the boy was never part of the plan,” Ten remembers. 

“He’s the only one left,” Doyoung argues. “I killed the other two, the Mayor and the wife. But the kid--” he struggles to speak, too caught up in his emotions. He’s probably drowning in them right now after having suppressed them for so long. “The fucking kid and his fucking servant unit,” he moans, half-delirious. 

“Doyoung, you need to calm down,” Ten speaks with his special voice, the sultry one he’s supposed to use for his owners. “We need you to tell us what went wrong so we can fix it.”

His voice seems to have a calming effect on the panicked android, whose shoulders relax and breathing evens out. He’s still sobbing, but he’s much more articulate. “The kid, the Mayor’s son,” he starts explaining. “I saw him hold hands with his servant unit and I--” He chokes again. “I couldn’t do it. I never suspected the asshole would have implanted the chip in his son’s brain, but he did. He fucking did.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Johnny reasons.

“Tell yourself what you want so you can sleep at night,” Doyoung barks, and suddenly he’s back to his usual self. “But the truth is that our mission has now become to track down and blow some kid’s brains out.” 

And with that, Doyoung is gone. He leaves through the main door, possibly directed to his own private apartment. The room feels terribly empty without his commanding presence. 

Ten crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve outdone yourself today,” he tells Johnny, but he isn’t listening. His eyes are unfocused, and he hasn’t moved an inch since Doyoung told them the truth. 

“What the fuck are we going to do?” He gulps, finally looking at Ten. 

Ten shrugs. “Kill the kid, what do you think?”

Outside, their world is collapsing.

 

++

 

When Sicheng arrives at the plaza, it’s eerily quiet. The remnants of the chaos from the previous day are still there, including the blood and brains splattered on the platform. The entire area has been closed off for anyone but him, and Sicheng wonders how the city will continue moving without its most important neuralgic centre. There are no cars, no humans, no androids to be seen. Just Sicheng and his motorcycle, which he had parked outside of the precinct.

The moment he reaches the platform, his enhanced eyes start doing their detective work. In just a couple of minutes, he’s able to determine the angle of the bullet, and how it had penetrated the Xiao family’s heads. 

Well, not all members of the family. 

Dejun had vanished without a trace. After the broadcast had been cut off, no cameras had caught his movements. One second he was there, staring in horror as his parents were murdered, and the next, he was not. Sicheng wondered how long a little prince would last without aid. 

The bullet had definitely been fired from one of the skyscrapers that surrounded the plaza, specifically the one that faced the platform. Sicheng jumps down from it, and his knees squeak. He winces but makes no sound to voice his pain. He simply needs a replacement soon. 

Luckily, the skyscraper has been evacuated too, but the shooter had been smart enough to pick one of the top floors as a shooting point. Sicheng walks out of the elevator to find a completely empty open space, no sign of human life left. It is most definitely an abandoned floor, one that had been empty even before the killings. One of the massive glass windows is missing, and it has a direct view of the plaza. Sicheng stands right on the edge, letting the wind hit his face. He looks up to watch the clouds that float around and below him. God, the building was impossibly tall.

He breathes in. There’s barely any oxygen at that height, not enough for a human to withstand more than five minutes. He smirks. Now he can scratch one thing off of the list: the shooter isn’t human. 

As he turns around to continue roaming around the area, Sicheng notices a spark to his left. It’s faint, but enough for his trained sight to notice. He walks towards it, frowning when even his augmented eyes can’t recognize it. He squats down, picking up the shiny objects from the floor. They’re small sized and made of iron, but somewhat heavy. He takes a picture with his lenses and searches it up in his database. As he turns the object around to examine it, it glistens under the sunlight. 

The search is complete. 

“Iron bullets?” He frowns, puzzled. “But no modern weapons can shoot iron bullets. These must be over a hundred years old,” he says aloud. 

Why someone would use outdated firearms when there are much more precise laser guns is something he has trouble understanding. He stays still, thinking and talking to himself, when he realizes. “Off-Grid,” he snaps his fingers. “Analogue weapons are Off-Grid.”

By cutting connections to the Grid, the attacker had ensured that the weapon couldn’t be traced back to them. It was a smart decision, albeit a risky one. It meant that sniper had had to aim and shoot from a ridiculously large distance. It was undeniable now; the attacker was an android. 

Was it the start of the long-awaited rebellion? Or was it a single, demented unit looking to wreak havoc? 

Sicheng stares outside the window again. Whatever the cause may be, the shooter had left one family member alive. He wonders where the kid is now, if he’s still alive or if the same attacker had caught him already. He writes a simple message to his superiors. 

The sniper was an android. There are no signs of the son. Will continue investigating. 

A cold breeze invades the building through the broken window. It ruffles Sicheng’s hair, and he combs it with one slim hand. The air smells of death, but also of promise. If it is a good one or a bad one, Sicheng can’t tell. 

 

++

 

The first thing he thinks when he wakes up is that he didn’t remember his hub looking so decadent. The ceiling is leaking, and the drops produce a rhythmic tapping right next to his head. Suddenly, a cold droplet hits his forehead, making him flinch. Before the next one can fall, he sits up, taking in his surroundings.

He’s not in his hub. This room is filthy and dark, and it smells of rain and something salty that he can’t recognize. He definitely can’t remember how he ended up in this strange place. Before he woke, he wasn’t even aware that there was a world outside of his hub. 

He attempts to climb down from the table, but all his limbs feel stiff and his neck is unusually sore--he’s so used to being in perfect shape and health. He also feels weirdly empty and light, like someone had taken out his organs and filled him with cotton instead. 

With persistence and much effort, he manages to step down from the table he was resting on. His feet are bare, as always, but this floor isn’t in any way similar to the one in his hub. It’s cold and dirty, almost muddy. He’s never seen anything like this. 

From the corner of his eye, he spots a light. To his right, he finds a window. 

It’s the first window he’s ever seen in his life.

Slowly, he walks towards it. His feet move to their own accord--first the heel, then the sole, then the toes--because every single fiber of his being is screaming, begging at him to stop. He’s read about windows before, he understands the logistics; you look through the glass and find yourself staring at the outside world. The part that confuses him is “outside world”. Fifteen minutes ago, he didn’t even know such a thing existed. 

He approaches the window carefully, ready to run away if necessary. He rests his hand on the glass, cold and damp, before he dares look. 

If he had ever considered imagining the outside world, it would have been nothing like this. In front of him, hundreds of monumentally tall buildings stand, assertive and authoritative, blocking the view. They aren’t, by any means, a beautiful sight. Much like this room, the buildings are somber and gloomy, and there’s an almost depressive energy emanating from them, like their inhabitants had been contaminated by that dread. Perhaps they had been the ones to contaminate.

The door opens abruptly, causing him to jump and turn around violently. In the frame stands a young man, someone he’s never seen before, carrying a dampened towel. 

“I’m going to clean the unit up befo--” Upon realizing his presence, the man drops the towel. He’s rendered speechless, his perfectly symmetrical face white and eyes blown wide. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, visibly shaken. “You’re awake.” Before he can answer, the man turns around and leaves, not even bothering to pick up the towel. He goes to pick it up when another man comes in. 

This one he recognizes. 

Terrified, he backs away until his back hits the wall. “Y-You,” he points an accusatory finger at the man--Johnny, he remembers. “You tried to kill me!” He yells. 

Johnny frowns. “That’s impossible,” he argues. “You can’t kill something that isn’t alive to begin with.” 

He gulps loudly. “What?” His voice is barely a whisper, a wet noise that dies in his throat.

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “You’re not one of those androids that call themselves ‘living beings’, are you?” 

He grips the cold, damp wall with trembling fingers. His panic has somehow dissipated, instead turning into something he believed to be much more unnerving—curiosity. “Androids?” He asks. His voice is firmer this time. 

Johnny hasn’t tried to approach him yet. He rests his weight on the table, not quite sitting on it. “Yes, androids,” he replies. “Like you.”

He feels his insides turn cold. He’s heard about androids, of course. But only in science fiction books. “Me?” His hands tremble, and his head is starting to shut off, overwhelmed. “I’m human. One of the few who survived the nuclear apocalypse.”

Johnny laughs, and it’s dry and dark. “Is that what they told you? As you can see,” he points out the window. “The world is doing just fine.” 

He looks out the window, like he did before, and finds the same ugly, dirty and crude world. ‘Fine’ is not a word he would use. 

“Why?” Is all he can say. He understands nothing, but feels so, so much. “Who-- What--?”

“Hey,” Johnny stands up and walks towards him. In response, his body moves almost to its own accord, backing up as fast as possible. His back collides with the wall with a loud thud, and he swears he can almost hear a metallic noise inside himself. Johnny halts and walks no further, staring at him with sad but frustrated eyes. “Look--” he starts to say, but before he can finish, the door bursts open and a tall man with broad shoulders barges in. The man points a gun at him and fires without hesitation, but the laser shot misses his head by a few millimeters. He lets out a loud yelp and throws his body on the ground, covering his head with his arms. 

“Are you fucking insane?!” He hears Johnny scream. 

“You’re the one who’s insane!” Who he assumes to be the other man yells back. “He’s a threat to all of us! He obviously has a tracker.”

“Calm the hell down!” Another voice, smaller and higher pitched, intervenes. “I took it out, along with his organs. Who do you take me for?”

His hand moves on its own, and it comes to rest on his chest, where a heart is supposed to be beating right now. He feels nothing, then again, had he ever felt anything before? He stares at his fingers, not too short but not too long. They look made of flesh and bone, the skin wrinkled at the junctions and sticky on his palm. The longer he stares, the less human they appear. Slowly, they start to morph into claws, made of cold, hard metal. Whenever he stretches or clenches his hand, a jarring sound can be heard, like his joints are in dire need of oiling. 

Above him, the fighting continues, loud and violent, but it’s all just white noise to him. His brain--if he even has one anymore--is buzzing, vibrating inside his skull. Black spots begin to appear in his line of vision, like a burning film. Eventually, he sees nothing. 

His head hits the floor.

 

++

 

When Xioajun dreams, it’s always vivid, almost palpable. 

In this one, his wings are part of him. Instead of iron, they are made of feathers, and he feels every single air current against them. He flies and flies, over Neo City’s skyscrapers, away from them. He flies until he can’t recognize the setting anymore, but he doesn’t care. The destination is insignificant, what he cares about is the path. The air caresses his face, ruffling his hair and feathers. Xiaojun feels meaningless, and it makes him exuberant. He has no name, no face, no title, no one to answer to. He simply flies. 

Suddenly, a brute force collides with his back and sends him spiraling down. The force attaches itself to Xiaojun, intertwining their bodies. 

He crashes against a grass field and he lets out a loud scream of pain. Terrified, he turns around to stare at his attacker. 

Sitting on his back is a faceless creature, its skin pitch black and waxy. The creature is somewhere between a human and an arachnid, with six anthropomorphic limbs, all of them caging Xiaojun. Suddenly, a huge mouth full of sharp white teeth appears on the monster’s face. Its tongue peeks out. It’s inhumanly long and red, and it starts dripping saliva almost immediately.   
The creature licks a line up Xiaojun’s spine, and its tongue is cold and rough against his skin. His scream dies in his throat before he can let it out. His lungs are constricted in sheer terror. 

All of a sudden, the monster digs its sharpened teeth in Xiaojun’s shoulder blade and, with one fierce pull, it tears his wing off of his body. 

The scream finally comes. 

He jolts awake.

“Xiaojun!” Someone yells beside him. It’s Hendery, who wraps his arms around Xiaojun’s shoulders immediately, petting his hair and pressing feathery kisses to his temple.

“Hendery,” he whispers, burying his face in the android’s chest and breathing in his scent. He smells like he always has—lemony, with a hint of lavender—but also like something new and foreign. Xiaojun pulls away and notices big dark spots on the fancy attire Hendey is dressed in. It’s blood, but he doesn’t know which of his parents it belongs to.

It takes him a while to get accustomed to his surroundings. The first thing he notices is that the floor is wet, and his cloak is damp and muddy because of it. The rest of his clothes are in a similar state of raggedness, but they still look somewhat regal.

“Where are we?” He gives up on trying to guess and simply asks the unit sitting beside him, around him.

“I’m not sure,” Hendery admits. “In the 120 Districts, probably. Possibly 126, bordering on 127.”

Xiaojun’s eyes widen. “This is a dangerous place,” his voice quivers. “This is where most of my father’s violent opposition comes from, probably where the shooter comes from too.”

Hendery caresses his cheek in an attempt to calm his nerves. It doesn’t work as well as it usually did. “There’s no safer place to hide than in plain sight.”

Xiaojun frowns. “Why should I hide?” He doesn’t understand. He is of no danger to anyone but himself, he’s sure his father’s killer knows that. He is a bratty, spoiled teenager with no purpose in life other than antagonize his now deceased parents and spend their money on useless things. He has no intention to oppress or enslave androids, at all. He is a slave himself, after all. His body, mind and soul belong to—ironically, almost comically—his servant unit.

Hendery’s hand shakes against Xiaojun’s cheekbone as he draws a stripe on his eyebrow with his thumb. “The first bullet was aimed at you,” he lets out, voice rough and pained, as if saying the words physically hurt him. “I saw it. It missed your head by an inch.”

“How could the shooter have missed?” Xiaojun tries to focus on Hendery’s dark irises. “Why did they miss? My head was right there.”

Hendery notices Xiaojun’s panic before it can even start. He cups the human’s face with both hands, pressing wet kisses to his forehead. “What am I supposed to do now?” Xiaojun cries out. “Where do we go? What do we do?”

As he sobs into his lover’s arms, a sketchy-looking man passes by. He stares at them for a second too long, focusing particularly on Xiaojun’s garments. His eyes stay on them as he walks away, leaving them alone in the somber alley again. Xioajun feels his presence even when it is no longer there. It stays with him, like a warning or a threat, a reminder of who he is and what he means to the people of the Districts.

“We need to change,” he suddenly speaks, pulling himself out of the panicked loop. 

Hendery’s face shows nothing but confusion. “Change?” 

“Our clothes,” Xiaojun explains dryly. “They’re obviously from the Citadel. We’re practically begging to get mugged or killed. Possibly both.”

Hendery looks down at his own clothes which, for an android, are extremely delicate and custom made. It’s expected of the Mayor’s son to have a well-dressed servant unit, after all. “I see,” the android understands. “They’re too… bright.”

Xiaojun nods. Surprisingly, Hendery could not have picked a better adjective. The Citadel, with its transparent skyscrapers and white concrete squares, was nothing if not bright. The Districts however, are grey and gloomy—dark. Their clothes fit these definitions, Xiaojun could see now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone from the Citadel wear black.

“Where could we find new clothing?” Hendery asks, standing up and helping Xiaojun do so as well.

Xiaojun takes off his cape and throws it away, keeping only the simple suit he’s been wearing under it. “We look for them,” he shrugs, taking Hendery’s hand in his and pulling him towards the busy streets of the Districts.

 

++

 

For a short while, Jaehyun had considered sabotaging the plan. The thought made him absolutely nauseous whenever he as much as recalled it now, but he couldn’t deny that it had crossed his mind more than once.

It had been back at the beginning of his addiction.

He’d been so fascinated, so enamored by the drug that the simple thought of losing it made him sick to the stomach. But it wasn’t until Johnny mentioned how their world would completely shift after they carried out their plan, that he realized. Would this shift mean losing access to his only source of pleasure and satisfaction? Jaehyun’s skin itched in fear and anxiety. 

So he contemplated the idea of sabotaging everything they’d worked for in the past 5 years or so. He could have just altered Doyoung’s rifle, made it useless without alerting anyone with untrained eyes. 

It was Ten who stopped him, but that was something the android would never know. 

That night it had rained for hours and hours—something usual in Neo City—and Ten had insisted they all stayed home. Johnny had immediately agreed—he and Ten had still been linked back then—, wrapping his arms around the android’s tiny waist. Doyoung had been more reluctant, of course, arguing with Ten for almost half an hour, until Johnny had offered him an entire day of shooting practice in exchange for that calm friendly night. And Jaehyun? He had nowhere else to be. He’d gotten his last dose the previous night, and even though he could feel the withdrawal start to creep on him—he imagined the physical representation of this disease to be a huge arachnid with a human mouth, for some reason—, he could still allow himself to spend that night with his friends, instead of with his needle.

Eventually, their conversation had drifted into the expected topic—their mission. Jaehyun was beginning to doze off, his head on Johnny’s lap, when Ten spoke with a tone he had never heard before.

“I remember a boy, back at the club you found me in,” he pointed at Johnny with his chin. “Well, I guess boy isn’t the right word. He was an android, a pleasure unit like me,” his eyes were unfocused and glossy. “But he wasn’t like me, not entirely. I was born as part of a massive production, one of many. But he,” Ten licked his lips before he continued. “He was completely unique. Custom-made, a masterpiece of engineering. His face was absolutely angelic, and his proportions were scientifically perfect.”

“So how did he end up at that brothel?” Doyoung crudely interrupted. 

“His owner didn’t want him anymore. He’d gotten a new doll, a new toy, so the boy was useless to him. He didn’t even have a name,” Ten chuckled dryly, sarcastically. “We just called him by the initials on his serial number—TY.”

Jaehyun scratched his cheek. “That’s so sad,” he sighed.

Ten had laughed again, this time in a mocking manner. “It’s a reality, baby boy. It’s how we pleasure units live. Our sole purpose is to please,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I wonder where he is now. He was one of the club’s stars, obviously, but even he was treated roughly. I remember a client tried to steal one of his eyeballs as a prize.”

All thoughts of sabotage had vanished from Jaehyun’s mind then.

This night, his mindset remains the same, but, tragically, so does his addiction. He sneaks out a little after midnight, unable to hold back for much longer. His knees shake from the withdrawal and he hasn’t slept in days. His jaw trembles in anticipation as he walks confidently towards the usual meeting point. He can only hope that his dealer hasn’t fled after the commotion. 

The streets are emptier than normal, but it’s nothing too out of the ordinary. Jaehyun can still hear the distant sounds of clubbing, sex and bar brawls. It seems that the murder of the Mayor hasn’t affected the citizens of the 127 District too deeply. It’s hard to make a dent in hearts made of iron. The people of the Districts have better things to worry about than Citadel drama, and it appears that it includes even the murder of their governor. 

Jaehyun’s boots click against the pavement, and he wonders if they give away his true intentions. Is there really any difference in how an addict walks to how a healthy person walks? Can others hear the trembling of his muscles—begging for a new dose—, or the clenching of his teeth, screaming for the next fix? He doubts it, even if his opinion is biased. Nowadays, people can’t even tell human from android. 

When he finally makes it to the alley, his dealer isn’t there. He feels instantly on edge, because the other man has always been the first one to arrive, as well as the last one to leave. Could it be that, as Jaehyun had feared, he had fled from the blossoming revolution? Jaehyun wasn’t sure of the man’s true nature--after all, he’d never seen his face--, but the Districts were dangerous for any species.

“Turn around,” a familiar voice whispers behind him, close to his ear. Jaehyun jumps and gasps loudly.

He turns around, whipping the air. His fringe falls on his eyes, but he can still see clearly. Too clearly, unfortunately. 

In front of him stands who he assumes to be his dealer, except this time his hood is pulled down, making his face visible. 

However, there is no face to see. 

The skin on his head is missing completely, which means his cranium is exposed completely. His skeleton is made of vibrant steel, and it shines under the streetlights. His teeth, round and metallic, are shaped unnaturally perfect. 

The android opens his mouth to speak again, and Jaehyun can see the electrical currents in his throat. “You were looking for me, I assume.”

Jaehyun chokes on his own tongue. “I-I…” He gulps loudly, trying to calm down. “Yes, I am.”

The android looks him up and down, and Jaehyun can see his eyeballs move so clearly it’s nauseating. “I have an offer for you,” the android speaks after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“An offer?” Jaehyun inquires. His brain is processing thoughts at an even slower rate than usual. “What kind?”

“I have a job for you. If you accept it, I will no longer charge you for my product.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen immediately. His drug, apart from destructive, was also extremely expensive. He’d been using his saved up money from his street-gang days, but it was starting to run out. But now, a perfect opportunity had presented itself in the form of a skinless android. 

“What’s the job?” Jaehyun needs immediate answers. 

The android digs his skinless hand into his cloak and pulls out Jaehyun’s favorite past time--the syringe. “I will give you this today. If you come to The Whiplash next Wednesday, I will introduce you to the job and you will start that same day.” He hands Jaehyun the syringe. “This one’s on me.”

The android starts to walk away, so Jaehyun has to raise his voice. “Wait! How will I find you?”

The android turns his shining head around. “Just ask for TY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/bijaehyunrights)
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/bijaehyunrights)
> 
> [apple music](https://music.apple.com/es/playlist/genesis/pl.u-gxblk87s3oab6D?l=en)/[spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/ivisitaguapita/playlist/4ZyfT0yVempOFia2U1UXeE?si=pKIksdMURCCo3uVchkH3dg)

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dojaegay)
> 
>  
> 
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/dojaegay)
> 
>  
> 
> [my beautiful beta reader](https://twitter.com/jaemult)


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